


Death Throes

by KivaEmber



Category: Shin Megami Tensei: Devil Survivor 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 11:05:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KivaEmber/pseuds/KivaEmber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Yamato wondered what he was surviving for. To suffer so he could suffer some more later?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death Throes

The wood was mostly rotten at this point, a putrid sweet scent wafting up from it. Yamato tried not to disturb it as he stepped over the broken pieces, his bare feet scuffing over the dust covered flagstones. He left wet footprints in his wake as he walked deeper into the derelict building, misty drizzle floating from the holes in the ceiling above.

 

The church had seen better days, and the wooden pews had been smashed to chunks and splinters, the stone floor and pillars cracked and mauled – but it was shelter, and Yamato was hardly going to pass a roof over, even if it was semi-ruined. The altar was in one piece, at least, even if it had a very depressing crucifix looming over it. The cracked Christ figure’s face was wet from rainwater, giving it the appearance of crying.

 

Yamato almost scoffed at the sight.

 

The noise of shifting wood made him stop, and he whirled around, hissing in pain when he kicked a chunk of broken pew. He bent down, lightly touching his bruised shin, peering up from beneath his pale eyelashes at the large, hulking silhouette that had slipped through the church’s doorway. The smell of sulphur overtook the smell of rot, and Yamato relaxed, straightening up from his defensive crouch.

 

“Cerberus,” he scolded quietly, his young voice echoing in the church’s vast space. The silhouette paused, before ducking its head in apology, continuing its path towards Yamato.

 

“We’ll rest here tonight,” Yamato said when the beast drew near. Cerberus was twice his size, and its breath was hot when the beast nuzzled its dry nose against his hair. Yamato slid his small fingers into its thick mane, gripping the coarse fur tight. The heat tingled his palms, but it wasn’t painful. He needed that warmth. The rain had left him wet, and the breeze was cold, the cotton of his yukata thin and useless in this climate. He shivered.

 

The altar didn’t make a very effective bed, but between Cerberus’s body and the little hollow that protected Yamato from the rain, it was the best he could have in this situation. He had been snatching minutes of sleep for the past… days? Weeks? Yamato had lost track of time, with there being no cycle of day or night anymore. It had felt like an eternity though.

 

The rain came down harder when Yamato got himself comfortable, his head resting on the crook of Cerberus’s arm and his small form curled up tight against the beast’s side. His stomach gnawed at his insides, and his head pounded, his mouth dry from thirst. The rain was tempting – just collect it in a pot, a voice whispered in the back of his mind. Drink it. Gulp it down. You need it. You need it.

 

But no, Yamato had seen the effects of the rain to those desperate enough to drink it – anything. Any type of water. The rain looked like normal water, but it was filled with a terrible poison. Black and all consuming. It devoured the victim from the inside out, warping them into those hideous-

 

Those things.

 

Yamato shivered, but not from cold. From disgust. The rainwater was clinging to his clothes, to his hair, to his skin – he could feel the curse laced within it, and it made him feel even more nauseous. But it was alright so long as he didn’t consume it. It was only when you fell into desperation and gulped it down, knowing the effects, knowing what would happen…

 

He bit his bottom lip so hard it started to bleed. His mouth filled with copper, and he swallowed painfully. His throat was so dry it was agony.

 

 _Drink me. Drink me_ , the rain whispered.

 

Yamato closed his eyes and fell asleep instead.

 

* * *

 

It was Cerberus inhaling sharply that woke up. Yamato half sat up, his head spinning, and he listened, his breathing shallow and laboured.

 

His hand was pressed against Cerberus’s fur, and he could feel the tension thrumming through the beast, its muscles taut and ready. A demon? Was one nearby? Or one of _those_. Yamato swallowed a few times to get rid of the cotton feeling in his mouth, and shifted beneath his little hole under the altar.  

 

It was voices he heard then. Human voices. People.

 

“…-wait, shit, is that a Cerberus?”

 

“Oh damn… huh, it’s not moving towards us…”

 

“Maybe this is its home? L-Let’s go…”

 

“…no, we can defeat it…”

 

A low rumble filled Yamato’s head, and he realised it was Cerberus. A low warning growl – **_“Go away”_** – and the flex of claws. Yamato was stricken with indecision. Humans were just as dangerous as demons. They were _worse_ than demons. Demons you could negotiate with. Reason with. Humans… unpredictable. Hungry and panicked, they would rip each other apart for their own survival, despite bleating about ‘safety in numbers’, or ‘justice’. He had seen how humans became like animals.

 

Base instincts, all snapping after hunger, lust, greed, wrath-

 

“I think it’s protecting something.”

 

Yamato’s breath froze in his lungs. Almost instantly Cerberus surged upwards, and he heard the thunderous pound of his demon’s paws striking the flagstones. There were panicked shouts, cries, and then the roar of a gunshot. Yamato flattered himself against the floor on instinct, making himself small as possible as chaos instantly exploded. Roars, gunshots, shouts, the sucking blast of fire-

 

He peeked upwards. The only thing he was able to see from beneath the altar was the crucifix. Christ’s face was lit up in red, the rain still dripping down cracked cheeks. It looked like blood. Blood dripping off the chin, dripping from the nailed feet and hands…

 

It became quiet.

 

There was the slide of something heavy against stone, and the shift of wood, the crackle of fire still alive and loud in the church. It was Cerberus, his demon’s muzzle dripping with red, and something large and bulging caught in its fangs. A bag.

 

Cerberus gently lowered it before Yamato, and he reached out for it, ripping it open. One litre bottles of water. The kind that Yamato had picked up in ruined store fronts more times than he could count. He didn’t hesitate. He snatched one up, all but ripping the plastic cap off, and gulped it down. He almost choked several times, water spilling from the corners of his mouth when he tried to drink more than he could fit in his mouth, but it was like heaven in that moment. Heaven.

 

The bottle was empty before five minutes had elapsed, and he coughed when he lowered it, his shoulders heaving from his rapid, short breaths. He felt sick. He could feel the water sloshing about in his stomach uncomfortably, and he gripped the bottle so tight the plastic creaked, his mouth pressed into a thin, discomforted line.

 

Cerberus leaned in, stinking of iron and sulphur, and gently nuzzled his forehead. Yamato felt something warm and sticky cling to his fringe.

 

“I’m fine. Thank you,” Yamato rasped, his voice cracking a bit. He shoved the empty bottle into the bag, and zipped it back up. He began to wriggle out from under the altar, and Cerberus stepped away to give him space. Yamato hauled the bag up, grunting under the severe weight, and slung it over his shoulder before turning to survey the church.

 

Two men lay dead on the floor. Their entrails were strewn on the floor, and one man’s head was almost hanging completely off of the neck, a thin, tenacious string of sinew and vertebrae keeping it barely attacked to the body. Yamato dismissed it after a moment, narrowing his eyes against the glare of the dying fire greedily eating at the broken, wooden pews.

 

Right.

 

“Let’s go.”

 

Yamato padded down from the altar, and his bare feet stepped into the red puddles on the floor. He left red footprints in his wake, Cerberus slinking after him like a living shadow. The rain continued to drizzle down, and outside the church, Yamato lifted the cotton cloth wrapped around his neck up to his nose. It was wet from the poisonous rain, and stank of damp, but it would make sure he wouldn’t accidentally swallow it.

 

The weight of clean water straining his small shoulders, Yamato walked down the ruined road, his bare feet slapping against the rough, broken ground. Stones and glass bit into his soles, but that type of pain he became numb to a long, long time ago.

 

What was he doing, really? He wondered that often. Was he living? Or was this merely surviving? There was no plan for him. After the fall of the Hotsuin clan, Yamato was left with no purpose. At nine years old, no, ten? Yes, at ten years old, in a world with no future, what was there for him to do but to survive? To fight and continue to fight just to fight another day? To suffer so that he could suffer some more later on?

 

Yamato could feel weariness beginning to rip at the corners of him. His feet dragged a bit. He could feel Cerberus’s gaze on his back.

 

It would be quick, and Cerberus would obey. Yamato knew that.

 

But he never gave that command. Even though the words would rise up in his throat, they never passed his lips.

 

So Yamato kept trudging forwards, leaving red foot prints behind, and with no understanding of what he was surviving _for_.

 

What was living?

 

He doubted he would ever learn the answer. 


End file.
